


What goes up.

by BarPurple



Series: Deca'verse [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gen, Hurt, Mild Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:57:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you reach the top of the pile there's really only one direction left for you to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I’d like to say it’s been fun. . .

“Bollocks.”

There was a weary resignation in Crowley’s exclamation upon entering his office. The room had sealed him in the moment he crossed the threshold and since there were only three beings that could pull that sort of stunt he knew he was in a spot of bother.

Patience is considered to be one of the heavenly virtues and anyone who thought they knew Crowley would swear up and down that he didn’t have a trace of it in his demon filled meat suit. So they would have interpreted his next actions as those of a man accepting his end was near. Crowley poured himself a generous glass of Craig, and lit a cigarette before settling back into his chair and propping his feet on his desk. 

The important thing to note about those people who thought they knew Crowley was this; they were morons who frequently found themselves without a soul, missing the shirt from their back and trying to work out how they’d lost a game they hadn’t even known they were playing. Crowley had patience; he just treated it as something to be used sparingly and under a protective veneer of short tempered grouching. He had an image to maintain after all.

As he blew smoke rings towards the ceiling the current King of Hell considered his potential opponents. Death was briefly assessed and removed from the list for two reasons; firstly trapping him like this wasn’t the Horseman’s style, if he want to talk he just turned up; secondly Crowley might not be on the best of terms with the ultimate final curtain, but he’d done nothing to piss him off, at least not lately.

God was an outside possibility, but Crowley had paid the heating bills and Hell was toasty warm, so he decided that it was unlikely Heaven’s absentee Father had put Himself back in the game.

That only left one option and unfortunately it came as a pair of brothers. For once it wasn’t the plaid clad nightmares, though Crowley chuckled to himself when he remembered that Winchester was the meat suit of choice for Lucifer and Michael. He couldn’t see the appeal himself, but each too their own. There was probably some kindred spirit thing in daddy issues and angst going on there that Crowley didn’t want to touch with a barge pole. 

He stretched forward and snagged the whiskey bottle from his desk. A refilled glass and another cigarette kept his hands busy while he ran through a dozen different scenarios in his mind. By the time he felt the binding spell lift from his office Crowley put his odds of surviving the next twenty-four hours at one in three. He could work with that.  
When the door opened Crowley raised his glass towards his captors.

“Hello boys. Come for a fag and a chat?”


	2. … but even I can't lie that well.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Crowley’s expert opinion it wasn’t a great beating, but it still hurt a damn lot.

Lucifer tilted his head and smirked at Crowley, it was a look that was strange on the face of Moose. Michael scrunched the face of his vessel, (what was the name of the half Winchester? Anthony? Alan? Whatever), it was not an impressive or intimidating, more like the kid had eaten a bad taco. 

Considering Michael was in the scrawniest Winchester Crowley had even laid eyes on, he packed one hell of a punch, of course that would be the archangel inside. Crowley’s head snapped around with the force of the blow and the only reason he didn’t get up close and personal with the carpet was because Michael grabbed his tie and thrust him back into the leather of his seat.  
Crowley ran his tongue around his teeth and spat a glob of blood out on to the floor by Michael’s foot. He twisted his head letting his neck crack and pop as he looked up into Michael’s eyes.

“Not how I usually like to start a business arrangement, but I’ve had worse.”

Michael grabbed the about to be ex-King of Hell around the throat and lifted him effortlessly into the air. His voice was so full of righteous ire that Crowley may have puked if his throat wasn’t constricted.

“We do not broker arrangements with scum.”

“Even if that scum has managed to float to the top of the pond.”

In contrast Lucifer’s voice was soft and gentle as if he was telling off a naughty puppy dog, not challenging the usurper to his throne. Crowley was man enough to admit in his current position he wasn’t much of a challenge, but surely he deserved a little respect?

Still holding Crowley aloft Michael began using him as a punch bag. In Crowley’s expert opinion it wasn’t a great beating; sure Michael had all that archangel strength and a lot of repressed rage going for him, but his blows lacked finesse. It was all about the hitting for him, not making the pain last. Even without style, it still hurt a damn lot.

By sheer stubbornness Crowley managed to keep on his feet when Michael released his throat. His defiant stance didn’t last long, as Michael applied a heavy boot to the back of his trembling knees. He thudded to the floor in a slumped kneel, the position of the vanquished. A moments respite gave Crowley time to catalogue his injuries. Throat bruised, but not crushed; at least three cracked ribs; internal bleeding, possibly something squidgy ruptured and a few teeth that might never be the same. Add all of that to his wounded pride at not being considered worthy of a professional beating and Crowley was feeling rather narked.

White loafers stepped into his line of vision and he rocked back on his heels to look up at Lucifer.

“Always wondered if I’d end up on my knees in front of Moose. Not as much fun as I’d imagined.”

Lucifer hunkered down in front of Crowley; thank sin for that looking up at Moose’s ridiculous height from this angle was only wrenching his abused neck more. Once he was on eye level Lucifer asked;

“Moose?”

Crowley chuckled wetly and choked up some nasty into his mouth. The Morning Star’s borrowed nose wrinkled in disgust as he spat the gunk out on to the floor.

“Just a little pet name I have for Sam, the real Sam.”

Michael bristled behind him and it took everything Crowley could muster not to cringe. The expected blow never came, but the light bulb moment on Lucifer’s face made him flinch anyway.

“I was going to kill you Crowley; ask Michael to put you out of my misery. It occurs to me that murder isn’t the best way to resume control of Hell. Mercy is called for I think.”

Heedless of the still oozing blood Lucifer reached out and cupped Crowley’s face with both of Sam’s huge hands. Crowley gasped as his injuries were healed, painfully. Broken ribs shifted under his skin and knitted back together; bruises faded and cuts sealed in a matter of seconds, but all of the aches, twinges and itching that accompanies months of healing were compressed into the same few seconds.

The repair job achieved what the beating had failed to; Crowley threw back his head and screamed.

Healing was painful, but what followed in its wake was agony; shame, regret, sorrow, remorse and guilt crash through Crowley very being. Through tear blurred eyes he stared at Lucifer’s beneficent smile as realization dawned.

“No. Not this. Why?”

“I’ve given you a gift Crowley. The chance to earn redemption for all your many and varied sins. That wouldn’t be possible as a demon, so I’ve made you human again.”

Hot tears were flowing freely down Crowley’s face now, adding to the crippling shame and loathing flooding through him. Lucifer helped him carefully to his feet.

“You have a second chance, make the most of it. If our paths cross again I will not be so generous.”

The threat hung in the air as Lucifer clicked his fingers in mockery of Crowley’s habitual mannerism and the now ex-King of Hell and ex-demon vanished.

“All that time as a demon will be too much for a human soul to bear. It might have been kinder to kill him, brother.”

“That would have been wasteful. This way he’s as good as destroyed, but serves as a living lesson for any who would seek to follow in his footsteps.”

If Michael felt his brother was forging a rod for his own back, he kept it to himself. Lucifer handed him a tumbler of Glen Craig and raised his own to make a toast.

“To freedom and finding the anti-Christ.”


	3. Crapping Margaritas.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jody wasn't even surprised when her day took another sharp turn into plain crazy.

Jody took a drive that night. There was no reason for her to, but driving a last patrol of the night was habit and even if she had to do it in her own car now she couldn’t settle until it was done. It was almost like checking the doors were bolted and the windows latched before she went to bed, just on a town wide scale.

She’d known there would be fallout from the events at Bobby’s old place. The Winchester boys never had to deal with this sort of thing; the everyday crap that inevitably followed in the wake of the supernatural. By the time the boys had blown out of town, questions were being asked, reports had to be filed and somebody took the blame. 

She supposed it was part of the Sioux curse still lingering over the town that had caused the Mayor’s Office to move so quickly. Less than an hour after seeing the Impala’s taillights disappear she’d been called into a meeting. Half an hour later she was on paid suspension pending an enquiry into the handling of the Redevelopment incident. 

Jody loved her job and was surprised to find that she wasn’t upset about the decision. To be honest she wasn’t really feeling anything about the possibility of losing her job. A little voice inside had suggested that it was because she knew there was more to life now and she had another option; hunting. It was worth considering, but she was just too tired to think about it tonight. Her immediate plans involved a bubble bath and a bottle of wine.

She spotted something wrong on the porch the second she swung the car into the drive. Under the pretence of rummaging in her handbag she pinpointed the problem. The shadows were off; something or someone was sitting on her porch. Easing her spare gun out of her purse she calmly got out of the car and headed towards the house.

“Hello Sheriff Mills.”

Jody knew that voice; that bloody English accent and superior tone; the worst blind date in history; Roderick aka Crowley King of Hell. Jody moved quickly and grabbed the sawed off shotgun from behind the loose panel on the porch. That demon bastard wasn’t going to find her as unprepared this time round. With the gun cocked and braced against her hip she flicked on the porch lights.

“Hello Roderick, or do you prefer Crowley?”

The man hunched on her swing seat looked very different from the gentle, intelligent and rather attractive blind date. Crowley looked ruffled and as he turned towards she saw his face was blotchy, his eyes red rimmed and blood shot. He took a step towards her, but stopped when she adjusted her grip on the sawn-off. His voice sounded rough as he spoke.

“Sheriff Mills, Jody, I need help and you’re the only person I think I can trust.”

It was downright surprise at the nerve of this guy that froze Jody for an instant. Crowley misread her silence as a signal to move closer to her and Jody’s self defence mechanism took over at the point; she pulled the trigger dumping a barrel of rock salt into Crowley’s chest.

“Bloody Hell! That really hurts!”

Jody frowned. She’d not experience a demon’s reaction to salt, but she was expecting something more impressive than whining.

“I get that you’re upset with me and I’m sorry for sticking you with the check on our date…”

On basic principles Jody pulled the trigger again letting Crowley have the full force of the second shell in his chest again. The Brit fell to his knees with a pained grunt, but it still didn’t feel like the right reaction.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry I tried to hex you to death!”

Crowley raised his head and Jody saw tears falling down his face. Now she was confused, but there was no way she was going to let Crowley see that. Law enforcement teaches a fantastic poker face and Jody frequently took the guys at the station for a pretty penny. She let the demon have the ‘I’m listening’ face.

“It was a lowdown scummy move and I feel like shit about it. I actual feel terrible and that’s why I’d like you to please not shoot me anymore. I’m human now and don’t seem to have the same pain tolerance.”

Crowley pulled his coat open slowly and Jody saw the pale shirt was soaking blood from the shallow wounds the salt had caused. Oh crap. 

“Say the name of God.”

“Christo.”

Crowley stumbled a little bit over the word, but Jody was willing to put that down to pain. She moved carefully towards him to help him up. Just as she pulled him to his feet, she pushed her pistol into his ribs.

“If you are lying even a little I’ll turn you into Swiss Cheese. Got it?”

I think I’d prefer that to being a third of a Tequila Slammer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is of course part of Bobby Singer's brilliant threat to Crowley. It felt right for the chapter, so I went with it.


	4. Out of the fryingpan...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surviving Michael and Lucifer might have been the easiest part of his day.

Sam had almost made it to his bed when his cell phone rang. He threw a longing look at his soft, comfy, inviting bed before grabbing his discarded jeans from the floor. It took him two attempts to free his cell from the pocket. He stifled a yawn as he smiled at the caller id.

“Hey there Sheriff. It’s been three days, missing us already?”

The tiredness left Sam’s body while he listened as Jody explained the events of her evening. In two long strides he was at the door of his room.

“Don’t trust him Jody. Don’t take your eyes off him.”

Jody’s response caused Sam to frown as he headed into the main room at a fast walk. The residents of the Bunker who hadn’t needed sleep watched his entrance with a mixture of surprise and laughter. Sam was only wearing boxer briefs, which left miles of bare, well-muscled, surprisingly tanned skin on show; Not that Meg was taking a good long look, oh no.

“I know that Jody. No, that’ll take too long. I’m sending Cas up for you both.”

Cas stood up ready for whatever task Sam needed from him. Meg rolled her eyes a little and muttered ‘boyscout’ at him. Dean and Benny were listening to as much of the cell conversation as their enhanced hearing would allow. Jody was giving Sam a hard time about the need for her to come to the Bunker as well. Dean let Sam try his nice gentle way for all of two seconds before he stood up and took the cell from his little brother.

“Hi Jody, its Dean. Yes, I’m in the Bunker. Yes everyone is fine. Lucifer is out of the Cage and Crowley’s just made you a target. Cas is winging his way up to you right now.”

Castiel gave Dean a swift nod and vanished.

“You can give me all the crap you want when …”

Cas appeared holding Jody carefully by the elbow and supporting an unconscious Crowley, which he explained with a shrug and the simple statement of;

“He didn’t want to come.”

Jody still had her cell to her ear and was midway through calling Dean a word Bobby would have been impressed she knew. She bit the insult off and with slow deliberate care ended the call. The striking as fast as a snake she whacked Dean hard in the chest.

“Do you have any idea how worried we’ve all been Dean Winchester?”

“Yes ma’am. Sorry ma’am.”

“Don’t sass me boy! Right does one of you idjits want to tell me what the bloody hell is going on?”

“Think we’d all like to know that.”

Kevin was stood in the doorway staring at the now stirring form of Crowley with murder in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous scarcely dressed Sam. I'm not even going to pretend that it was in anyway necessary for the plot, but hey, not sorry ;)


	5. …into the frying pan.

For a long, drawn out moment everyone in the room held their breath. The shock of seeing Kevin Tran looking murderous was enough to give anyone pause, the fact that he looked perfectly capable of tearing Crowley apart with his bare hands was a disconcerting revelation. It was Dean who found his voice first.

“We’re not sure what’s going on yet, Kevin. It looks like Crowley is human now.”

“It’s true he is completely human.”

Castiel’s well-meaning interjection received a deep scowl from the young prophet.

“That just means he’ll be easier to kill now.”

Even in a room populated by harden hunters, angels, demons and vampires the simplicity in Kevin’s voice sent a shiver down the assembled spines. Jody helped Cas manhandle Crowley’s limp form into the chair furthest away from the angry young man. Sam noticed that Jody subtly positioned herself in front of the former demon.

Kevin, dude, you do not want to start down that path. I get how tempting it is to stick the knife in while he’s weak like this, but you won’t be able to live with it.”

Kevin locked eyes with Dean. The hunter tried to keep his face calm, but in truth he wanted to grab Kevin by the throat and shake some sense into him. Slowly some of the dark rage in Kevin’s eyes faded and Dean felt less like he was looking into a mirror. The prophet nodded slightly.

“Suppose he might come in useful. Are we sure he’s human? Sorry Cas, but he has tricked you before.”

The angel shrugged and nodded, he couldn’t deny Kevin’s words. Dean could understand the kid’s need for proof, he walk towards Crowley and frown slightly as Jody tensed.

“I’m not going to hurt him, Jody.”

The Sheriff gave and tense nod and stepped aside, Dean added that little show to the ever growing list of stuff to talk about later. He nudged Crowley’s foot not to gently with his own.

“Eyes open Crowley. I know you’re faking.”

Reluctantly the former King of Hell opened his eyes and looked around the room properly for the first time. He didn’t quite manage to bite back a whimper. Dean caught Kevin’s stare.

“You want proof he’s human? Christo.”

Meg hissed her displeasure and threw Dean an evil frown. Dean pointed at the annoyed demon and said;

“See Kevin? That’s how demons react to the name of God.”

Meg stomped over to Dean and poked him in the chest. 

“Yes. That is how demons react.”

Meg looked around at the others in the room and sighed. The only person on the same page as her was Crowley and that did not make her happy at the moment.

“Come on guys. You can’t be that dumb.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliff hanger - real life is being a pain - final chapter of this part to follow asap


	6. Business as usual.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations and sleeping arrangements.

Meg waited, not for long because she couldn’t be patient with such a huge revelation; a revelation that apparently everyone else in the room had failed to spot. The pennies dropped all at once with a suitably dramatic noise.

“How the hell did…”

“I thought you were a demon…”

“That’s not possible, is it….”

“CHRISTO!”

The room fell silent at Kevin’s shout except for Meg’s shudder and hiss of annoyance.

“Thank you Kevin. Now everyone’s caught up, how is it Dean isn’t sharing my discomfort at the word?”

The blank looks would have been endearing if these were the faces of her enemies, but on the faces of the people she’d thrown her lot in with Meg wanted to bang her head off the nearest wall, or possibly through it. The fact that it was Crowley that offered a suggestion just made her knuckles itch. 

“I think it’s because he’s not a demon as such.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide with nerves as he became the centre of attention. He wasn’t over-burdened with friends in this room, the best he had was one person he hadn’t pissed off and that was because he’d never met the burly, bearded man who hadn’t said a word yet. The former demon licked his lips and shifted painfully in the chair he’d been dropped into. His chest was stinging like crazy from the rock salt Jody had fired at him, but he knew he had to make himself useful, fast.

“The Mark of Cain was bestowed directly by Lucifer. I think it sees demon rules more as guidelines. Plus we’re talking about Dean here; he does have a habit of throwing the rule book out of the nearest window and winging it.”

Crowley gulped as he watched the reaction to his suggestions. He risked a glance in Kevin’s direction and blanched at the raw loathing he found in those dark eyes. Dean wore a look of utter bemusement as he fidgeted with the demon warded cuffs around his wrists. Sam was chewing his lip, his head nodding slightly as he considered Crowley’s words. Cas was rubbing a hand across Meg’s shoulder and habit forced Crowley to file that piece of information away for a later date. Jody pulled a chair up next to his and flopped down into her head dropping into her hands for a moment. Crowley had the sudden urge to offer her some form of physical comfort, but quashed the impulse as fast as it raised its head deciding that any movement would earn him a beating. It was the burly guy who spoke up in a deep Louisianan accent.

“It don’t really change anything does it? We still got to get Dean free of the Mark.”

Sam sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

“True, gives us an interesting chance for research I suppose.”

Dean’s head whipped up.

“Not a lab rat, dude.”

Sam shrugged and nodded at his brother.

“So we get on with translating the book and working out the spell. You are going to help with that Crowley.”

A man only wearing boxer briefs shouldn’t be intimidating, but somehow the tall hunter looked more threatening. Crowley wondered hysterically if it was because of the ridiculous amount of muscles on display. He nodded his head, willing to agree to pretty much anything that would keep him alive right now.

“Where’s he going to sleep?”

Kevin sounded calm, but he didn’t look it as Crowley risked another glance at him.

“I’ll take my old room in the dungeon.”

He offered it without thinking hoping to placate the young man.

“It’s only a dungeon for demons. You can come and go as you please from there now and I don’t want you wandering around while we’re sleeping.”

The Louisianan stood up and stretched drawing everyone’s attention to him without making a big deal out of the action.

“I’ll watch him, Kevin. If he puts a toe out of line, well, I’ll just be having myself a little midnight snack.”

The man snarled and a set of vampire fangs erupted from his gums allowing him to flash a very toothy grin at Crowley. The former demon whimpered out loud and shrank back into the chair. Jody stood up and with all the authority of a sheriff said;

“The humans need some sleep. I need a first aid kit before I turn in for the night.”

“Are you hurt?”

Jody smiled at the concern in Sam’s voice and laughed a little at the fact he still hadn’t noticed his lack of clothing.

“No, I hurt him. So get me that kit will you and put some clothes on dear.”


End file.
